The Whistle Turns The Ball To Gold. Poem by David Lacey

All around a murmuring sound
Leaves me with my ear to the ground.
Seeking answers through the vibrations
Of Our mothers surface. Still I remain a child
Within the reach of my Mothers hand.

Outside two guardians stand
A testament to patience,
Outstretching their arms in supplication grand
Two guardians seek deliverance
Duality beckons us towards the realization
That any extreme will lead us blind un-knowing.
Unity is shown to be the way.


The whistle turns the ball to gold.